Leave Your Mark
by Attia Ride
Summary: No more days to live. No more fears to face. No more places to go. No more things to do . . . but maybe that's not true. Maybe I can do something for them, so that they have a better life. So that they'll understand.


_**Disclaimer: I do not own anything from **_**"The Outsiders" **_**by S. E. Hinton or "If Today Was Your Last Day" by Nickelback. **_

_**Some lyrics are skipped because they didn't fit with the song, and some are repeated. I wanted to try another song-fic because, I'll admit, my last one kind of sucked. So I want to get better at it. **_

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><p><em>My best friend gave me, the best advice.<br>He said each day's a gift and not a given right.  
><em>

I heard the soft _beep _of the machine that brought me back. I moaned, twisting my burnt neck. It scorched my whole body, and I was forced to lay still on the bed. My back stung. My ears and nose felt like they'd just felt the after-effects of being covered in snow. It's a good thing at first, but when you stay in the snow, you start paying for it. Just like the fire.

It was blurry and disfigured, but I still had the horrible memory of going into the fire. We had to save those kids. Ponyboy knew it, and he went in after them, but I only followed. So why was everyone calling me a hero? Because I couldn't see where to go, and the church roof fell on me? Ponyboy was the real hero. He knew what he had to do. I remember him telling me once, "Each day's a gift and not a given right."

_Leave no stone unturned, leave your fears behind,  
>And try to take the path less traveled by.<br>__That first step you take is the longest stride._

He left all his fears behind because he knew what he had to do. He had to save the kids in there because we started it. He was a true hero, and I wish he'd stay that way. I knew that when I died, the hero inside of him would go away. I can't let that happen to him, but how? How can I prevent it?

I have to do something, but what? What can I do? Can I give him something? I have nothing. No more days to live. No more fears to face. No more places to go. No more things to do . . . but maybe that's not true. Maybe I can do something for him, for both of them, so that they'll have a better life. So that they'll understand.

Because Dallas was a true hero too.

He wasn't a superhero like Superman, and he wasn't a genuinely deep hero like the people in Ponyboy's books, but he was a hero. He was gallant. He'd do anything for any one of us, but he doesn't do everything he should. He's never heard any other. He needs something, or maybe someone, to show him the good in the world. And maybe I knew just the person to do it.

_And would you call old friends you never see,  
>Reminisce old memories?<br>Would you forgive your enemies?  
>If today was your last day . . .<em>

I had to tell him something. I had to tell them both something. The nurse came in, with a board and a pen. She refilled the bags on the machine, evened out the bed, and came to give me something. "Oh," She said with a little gasp, "You're awake,"

I didn't really feel like talking, so I nodded slightly and mumbled an agreement.

She left for a minute, leaving me alone in the peace. I relaxed on the bed, but my burns still stung like a thousand yellow-jacket stings. When she entered again, I got sort of stiff again. She laid something in front of my face. It was _Gone with the Wind_. "Thanks," I muttered.

"Do you need anything else?" She asked.

I thought for a minute. "Can I . . . get something to write . . . with?" I breathed slowly. She looked confused for a moment, then left to get me a slip of yellow paper and a pen. I picked it up. The pen wobbled in my shaking hand. I knew exactly what I wanted to write.

_If today was your last day,  
>Would you make your mark by mending a broken heart?<br>You know it's never too late to shoot for the stars,  
>Regardless of who you are . . .<em>

I finished, placing my pen down. I smiled to myself. He'd tell him. They'd be happy. Dally would see all the good in the world. He'd see that he always had us, and that he still does. He'd see that there's always something to look forward to, something gold in this world of black. Ponyboy would see that he is that gold. That he's the thing that kept us all going, and he'd see that he can keep it up no matter what happens.

The nurse came back in. "Can you give this . . . to him?" I asked.

"To who?" She asked, leaning down to grab the book I handed her.

"To Ponyboy," I mumbled before passing out again.

_If today was your last day,  
>Would you make your mark by mending a broken heart?<em>

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><p><em><strong>Thanks for reading. All reviews are appreciated!<strong>_

_**-Attia R.**_


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